Page 99 of Goodbye Days

I’m actually glad my panic attack has left me mostly too numb and exhausted to dwell on the continuing ripples extending out from the stone I’ve thrown in this pool.

Mostly too numb. Every once a while, I look over at Jesmyn, who—and maybe I’m imagining this—sits closer to me than she did on the first leg of the journey. I consider the day’s epiphany and how it complicates things.

These chemicals. If only there were a way to drain them from my head.

I text Jesmyn almost immediately after I arrive home from dropping her off. I thank her for helping me through yet another panic attack. I thank her for letting me give her my parka to wear, because I didn’t want to see her cold and wet. I tell her how much I miss Eli. I tell her the first part of what Pierce said to me in the bathroom. I tell her I’m glad I got to see Fall Creek Falls before maybe being imprisoned.

I tell her everything but what I most want to tell her.

My blood howls in my ears the minute the principal walks into my AP biology class, interrupting a lecture about photosynthesis. She pulls my teacher aside and they confer in secretive, urgent whispers, casting furtive glances in my direction. The principal returns to the hall.

“Uh, Carver?” my teacher says.

It doesn’t come as the slightest surprise. I walk to the front, adrenaline singeing my ribs.

“Grab your things, if you would.”

Everyone turns in their chairs, their stares snagging on my skin like burrs. I hear their murmurs. My face smolders. I return to my desk, grab my stuff, and walk out of the classroom, head down.

The principal awaits me in the hall. “Carver, sorry to pull you out of class. There are a couple of detectives here who need to speak to you. If you’ll come with me.”

My heart shrinks to an icy steel ball. My head swims, delirious. They’re here to finally arrest me. They’ve found some piece of evidence. I’m done.

I nod and follow the principal to the office. Lieutenant Farmer and Sergeant Metcalf are there. I don’t say anything. Not even hello. Lieutenant Farmer holds two large envelopes. He hands one to me.

I accept it like it’s full of spiders.

“Carver, that’s a warrant to seize and search electronic files on your cell phone and laptop. We’ve faxed a copy over to your attorney. He’s looked at it. You’re welcome to call him or look it over.”

I say nothing but open the envelope and pull out the document inside, as if I’ll be able to tell whether it’s legitimate. It looks genuine.

“So?” I ask.

Sergeant Metcalf holds out a bag. “Cell phone in here. This is called a Faraday bag, and it blocks transmissions to and from your phone, so don’t bother trying to wipe any information from it remotely.”

I pull the murder weapon from my pocket and drop it in the bag. “What am I supposed to do without my phone?” I won’t even have my phone for the Dearly show.

Lieutenant Farmer chuckles sardonically. “For the week or two the state police are pulling stuff off it, you’ll have to make do. Generations of kids before you survived without cell phones.”

“Laptop too, please,” Sergeant Metcalf says. He holds out a bigger version of the bag I put my cell phone in.

I pull my laptop from my bag and hand it over. “What about homework assignments I have on there? Also, I have a bunch of stories and stuff I’ve written.”

The principal interjects. “Carver, you won’t be responsible for any homework assignments that are on your computer.”

“If you’re concerned about anything getting wiped from your computer, don’t be,” Sergeant Metcalf says. “The TBI’s job is to make sure nothing gets deleted from your laptop.”

“Okay. That’s everything. Can I—” I start to say.

Lieutenant Farmer hands me the other envelope. “This is a search warrant for your bedroom. We’re heading directly from here to your house. We just spoke with your mom, and she’s meeting us there. We’ve also discussed this with your lawyer, but you’re welcome to call him.”

“Can’t really do that with my phone in the thingy bag.” I’m aware I’m being a smartass, but their whole demeanor—this business of coming to my school—seems calculated to intimidate me. It’s working and I resent them for it.

“You can use our phones,” the principal says.

I call Mr. Krantz. He’s headed to court. He tells me to go home, watch the officers search, and videotape it.

The principal excuses me for the rest of the day. I drive home. When I arrive, my mom is already there and some uniformed officers have just pulled up. I tell her to film on her phone and she does.